Your Job To Believe
by Lyra Skywalker
Summary: Draco watched his father with teary eyes. “Draco, Do you remember the night you woke to find me standing over you? Do you know why I was there? I was going to kill you. Do you know why? No? Because I didn’t want to condemn you to the same life I led.”
1. Butterfly

**Author:** Lyra Skywalker

**Title:** Your Job To Believe

**Genre:** General / Angst

**Disclaimer:** Not mine; everything except the story line belong to the ever so brilliant J.K. Rowling.

**Summary:** "Draco, Do you remember the night you woke to find me standing over you? Do you know why I was there? I was going to kill you. Do you know why? No? Because I didn't want to condemn you to the same life I led."

Story – Your Job To Believe (Chapter One - Butterfly)

_When Draco remembered, it wasn't vivid like most childhoods. It was hazy and unclear, like it had never happened. Remembering gave him the same feeling he got when his father used to pick him up and spin him around and around. Not dizzy, but misty, like a fog covering all of his memories. But he tried to remember, and when he did, he wasn't so sure it had been a good idea._

* * *

Draco looked up at his father and grinned. He was two years old, small with sparkling silver eyes and blonde hair. All Malfoy traits, he was the perfect Malfoy.  
Lucius looked at him, at his crooked grin, his small dimple on his left cheek. Innocent and curious about every thing. Draco hadn't progressed like a normal child; he never crawled, but made one attempt after another at walking. He walked at nine months and ran at ten. He spoke at one year of age, always demanding and never asking. Draco always knew what he wanted, and he did everything he could do to achieve that. He demanded, he screamed, he threw fits…but he was still innocent. Lucius picked him up and spun him around and around. And Draco would laugh. He wasn't afraid. He was happy… 

It was snowing…or was it raining…no, it was snowing. The first snow of winter, soft, fluffy and cold. But Draco wasn't cold. He wanted to know where snow came from. Why was it white, why was it wet? Lucius sat down and explained. It was frozen water and it came from the sky.  
Draco laughed. It wasn't water, it was clouds, he decided. Snow was fallen clouds.  
His father picked him up, and lifted him high. "Spin, spin, spin…"  
And Lucius spun, he spun fast, so fast that Draco let out a loud shrill, but happy shriek. The light from the snow reflected in the little boy's eyes. His father laughed and raised his wand. The snow lifted off the boy's hair and formed the shape of a butterfly.  
"Flutterby!" Draco cried, pointing to the intricate figure hovering above their heads. "It's a flutterby!" Lucius took Draco's tiny hand into his own and kissed it.

"Mmm…a butterfly."

Then Draco smiled. He loved snow, the way if felt…how it was cold. He reached out to the butterfly, trying to grasp the delicate white wings. "Want the flutterby". Holding his son in one arm, Lucius flicked his wand, moving his wrist gracefully. The butterfly landed on Draco's nose. Then he sneezed and watched in horror as his 'flutterby' blew away. He stared at his father with wide silver eyes and said one word.

"Gone."

* * *

Draco crept down the long hallway, dragging his stuffed dragon by its tail. He could hear his father talking to somebody in his office, a place forbidden to all except those invited.  
He stole closer and closer, his tiny brown boots padding softly on the dark fluffy carpet. He was bored, no,in fact he had been beyond bored at that point. So he wandered towards his fathers' office, cautious of the strange visitors that came and went during the night.  
Draco should have been sleeping, away from the darkness that haunted the manor at night, and the portraits that said daunting things to him. But today he was curious as any four year old would be. The portraits watched as the boy edged a little more forwards, following the voice of his father. Yet the voice was different, colder, and harsher. It was his fathers' business voice. 

Draco watched his father, he was listening to music. Lucius took him onto his lap and talked. Who was Harry Potter, Draco wanted to know. Lucius said he was the boy who killed the Dark Lord. And who was the Dark Lord, Draco wanted to know. The Dark Lord was a bad man.

Draco's eyes were focused, on the canvas in front of him. They were in the Malfoy Manor Library. His father was looking for a book behind the black velvet curtain. He was forbidden to enter that section of the library. Now, even more that he was going to be left alone in the library. His father was going to have a meeting on the floor below.  
Draco felt himself being lifted, and turned his head to see his father.  
"I'm going to be half an hour, Draco. Alright?" his father said, in a pretend 'business' like tone. Draco wriggled to be put back down. He straightened himself, looked up at his father with a proud and brave smile.  
"Good, now stay right here. I want to come back and see a big picture. Okay?"  
Draco nodded again, his soft baby locks flopping as he did so. Lucius left with his black and emerald green cloak swishing on the floor behind him. Draco liked playing with his father's cloaks. They were soft. Silk. Like his own just far bigger. He liked rubbing them against his cheek.

He didn't remember much of what occurred the rest of that day. It was, but a whirl pool of pastel colours, the memory of a day he fought hard to forget. What that remained etched in his memory was the face of a man. A pasty complexion, stringy hair, a chiselled jaw and eyes that looked like they hadn't seen sleep in countless days.  
He remembered lying in his father's arms and apologising.

**Draco watched the black velvet curtain billow, the cool icy air blowing from inside the hidden room. He felt drawn towards it, reaching out in hesitation to touch the soft material that dated back decades before he was born. The material felt like water…like the type used on invisibility cloaks. Like the cloak his father had. As he pulled back the curtain a piercing scream sounded. He stumbled backwards in shock, trying to block the sound from his ears. The screaming was high… but mixed with the sound of pained wailing…a child's wailing…his wailing.  
****He looked forwards and screamed. The curtain disappeared.**

"Shh…" it was his father. "Shh…Daddy's here."

* * *

Draco loved to read. He loved merging into worlds that didn't exist. He loved nosing into other people's lives, he loved to know about everything that went on around him…and everything that didn't. Most of all he loved to play a game of pretend with his friend, Blaise. He became one of the great kings of England. He thought of what he wanted, and then he made Blaise go and get it for him. Blaise would comply, Blaise _always_ complied.  
'A Gryffindor if I've ever seen one' Draco's father would say.  
Draco was seven and constantly on the go. 

"Dad, what're we doing now?" Draco asked leaning over his father's dark mahogany desk. The light from the fireplace flickered, sending an eerie glow across the room. Eerie, like the feeling that always crept up Draco's spine when he entered his fathers' office.  
"_I_ am doing my work." Lucius looked up briefly.  
"_I'm _bored." Draco looked over at the painting that hung on the wall of his father's office. A demented looking picture of a butterfly Draco had drawn years ago, a butterfly that clumsily flew around the canvas.  
"Read." The answer was short, blunt, and Lucius didn't bother to look up from his parchment this time.

Draco was unsatisfied with the lack of attention he was receiving so he leant over the desk, his silver eyes wide, and stared. The portrait of his grandfather that hung on the wall sniffed and walked out muttering to himself 'the Malfoys nowadays…'  
Lucius didn't move, but smiled and chuckled. A type of laugh Draco rarely heard. It was that half amused half 'piss off' laugh. "Go away Draco, I'm very busy."  
Draco huffed. He turned away. "Maybe _mother_ can entertain me." He left, and heard distantly the soft voice of his father saying "I highly doubt that"

Draco loved spinning. He would throw his arms out and spin and spin. He made his father do this once. Lucius hadn't liked it. He had gotten dizzy, a headache that stayed for a few hours. Draco never got dizzy.  
Lucius hated the feeling of loosing control, a feeling that accompanied spinning. Because if you spun to fast you would lose control.

Draco grew up listening to the story of the Malfoy who foretold his own death. He had been so couped up trying to prevent this death that he inevitably died. Every Malfoy has some type of ability to foretell events that occur in the future, Draco's father had said. If it be a mere hunch, to a series of reoccurring dreams.

Draco stood in his father's office and watched him write. He wanted to know why they though his father was a bad man, he wanted to know why they said he was a death eater. And who was they? Lucius asked. Everyone.  
Draco looked up at his father. "They say you're bad, daddy. They say you kill people."  
Lucius looked at his son. "Who are they?"  
"Everyone." Draco replied. "Everyone says this. Everyone says you are a death eater. That you kill people, that you hurt innocent victims."  
Lucius touched his son's face. "They are wrong, Draco."  
"Really?"  
"Yes."  
"Okay."

Draco watched as the couples danced around the room, he was mesmerised by the tinkling music. The strong scent of perfume floated in the air, making Draco giddy. It was another one of his mother's parties. Parties for birthdays, anniversaries, for any and every reason. It was all his mother ever did. She was there for show, so his dad could say he had a wonderful and beautiful wife. She was there to give him another perfect Malfoy. 'Selective breeding' Lorenz called it. His father called it 'in-breeding'.

Narcissa stood at the top of the room, below the huge white decorative carving on the wall. Her perfect skin, her perfect hair. That distant look in her eye…it was all he ever saw. The mirage of a perfect wife…only there to be a lingering presence when ever required.

She smiled, and lifted her hand in a wave like gesture, lowered it and resumed greeting. People danced and talked. They gossiped about current events. Who wore what…who had an affair with who…It was the life of a pure-blood high class socialite.

Draco watched his father take his mothers hand. They danced. Twirling, graceful steps to the sound of classical music. When he had been younger, maybe four or five his father used to dance with him. But that was when he was younger. It wouldn't look good if his father danced with him now. He was too old.

Draco could hear footsteps behind him.  
"I'm bored."  
It was Blaise.  
"I wanna do somethin'" Blaise complained. "Let's play quidditch!"  
"I broke my broomstick" Draco mumbled and tugged at the sleeves of his black dress robe.  
"Oh. Then…I dunno…let's…get away because Theodore's here and I hate him…"

They made their way down to the gardens. It was dark, that clear sort of dark night. It was spring, so the air smelt of fresh rain. The grass was wet, crushing beneath Draco's shiny black boots. He pushed Blaise before him.  
"Hurry up" Draco whined. Blaise shook the water droplets from his floppy black hair.  
"I'm hurrying…"  
The night was cold and terrifying, maybe it was because of the shadows…or because his imagination was running wild.  
"There's something over there!" Draco whispered loudly. Blaise looked around.  
"No there isn't."  
"Yes there is!" Draco pointed, across the garden and between the black iron railings. And Blaise saw it, two haunted eyes that looked like they hadn't seen sleep in countless days.  
He cried out and jumped back.  
"He can't get it." Blaise whispered. "Your dad says people can't get it…"

**

* * *

**

**Authors note:**

**Oh yeah, and I KNOW that Blaise is a Slytherin**

Okay, I wrote a longer chapter. Draco's memories may be written slightly mature for his age in the memory…but keep in mind that he's remembering it from a much older age than he is in the memory…He remembers it from an older perspective…if that makes any sense at all…oh yeah, and the ages don't change if I don't mention an age change.

I don't know if I'm moving to fast or to slow…but I need to quickly get through his childhood so I can move on to his at and past Hogwarts to get the part which the story is about…I need this so I can establish his childhood, teenage and future relationship with his father and other people…Damn I'm babbling here… is anyone even reading this?


	2. Older

**Author:** Lyra Skywalker

**Title:** Your Job To Believe

**Genre:** General / Angst

**Disclaimer:** Not mine; everything except the story line belong to the ever so brilliant J.K. Rowling.

**Summary:** "Draco, Do you remember the night you woke to find me standing over you? Do you know why I was there? I was going to kill you. Do you know why? No? Because I didn't want to condemn you to the same life I led."

Story – Your Job To Believe (Chapter 2- Older)

_There were holes in Draco's memories, times when he would look back and not know what he had done previously. There were long periods of times when he would wake up one morning and not be able to recall the past few days, weeks even. But he had learnt not to question this; it was just another part of his life._

* * *

Draco pressed his nose against the cold glass window in his bedroom. The whole side field next to their manor was covered like a soft white blanket of fresh winter snow. It was winter…again…it always seemed to be winter. In fact, Draco liked winter…he liked the snow…no…he loved the snow.

"Draco, come…it's time for your lessons." It was his father, wasn't it? "Draco…it's time for your lessons." Again.  
Draco didn't reply. He stared, mesmerised by the seemingly silver clouds that hovered above the roof of their manor.  
"Draco. Come away from the window, it's time for your lessons."  
Finally Draco turned around. He cocked his head to the side questioningly. Maybe he could get out of lessons today. He pointed outside, hoping for a distraction.  
"Yes Draco, they're called clouds." His father replied in a sarcastic, but knowingly amused way. "Time for lessons."  
"Do I have to? They're boring." Draco complained. His tone of voice was more of a whine, but Draco would never willingly admit that he would ever _whine_, because, as his father said, 'Malfoys' do not ever whine.'  
Draco grudgingly went along. His father better be right that when he finally went to Hogwarts that all of this prior-education would pay off.  
Draco was ten; he would be in Hogwarts in exactly 7 months.

Draco and Blaise discovered a new hobby the day after Draco's eleventh birthday. Quite usually, Draco and Blaise would reign terror on the manor and discover cruel and unusual was to bother the Malfoy butler 'Lorenz'. Or they would play Quidditch on their field, but ever since Lucius refused to buy his son the 'Nimbus 2000' after Draco had managed to break his previous broomstick, Draco was to busy sulking. Or Draco and Blaise would try and find ways on to the 'Left Wing Attic' that he was _also_ forbidden to enter. He had finally discovered that the section behind the black velvet curtain in their library was the extensive dark arts section; but what was in the 'left wing attic'?

But anyway. Lucius was in his office and Draco and Blaise had been forbidden to bother him. As of late the ten and eleven-year-old boys had been putting their eavesdropping abilities into practice.  
Draco elbowed his dark-haired friend when he had another spontaneous fit of giggles.  
"Shut up. Stop being stupid, _my father_ thinks you're going to end up in Gryffindor. You're being such a bloody Gryffindor! Now hurry up. I want to find out what my father found so important he couldn't tell me."

They crept down the long hallway, eyes from the portraits following them down. Draco's grandfather stood with his side angling towards them, a silk-gloved hand clutching the top of an elegant ebony and gold walking stick no unlike his father's.

Draco raised a single long/slim finger to his lips when he looked up at the portrait.  
"Shh…Don't tell my father…"  
The portrait looked back indignantly. "Your father? Hmph…I wouldn't give a single word to my disgrace of a son!"  
"Yes, a disgrace…"  
"Yes."  
"Weak, the new generations of Malfoys."  
Murmurs from other portraits floated down the hallway. Draco frowned. Nobody talked about him like that…not even a Malfoy.  
"Ah shut up!" he hissed. The portraits glared at him angrily.  
"No respect either!" Draco's great-grandfather sniffed. "In _my_ day, we never spoke to our elders that way!"  
Draco stalked off with Blaise on his trail. "Wait!" He passed the rest of the portraits and hurried to the end, ignoring the constant murmurs and endless chatters.  
And just when he thought the voices had stopped a lone voice rang out saying:  
"Front and centre, young Malfoy! Raise you chin!"

Draco looked up to see yet another pale face with long blonde hair. 'Emerald Wand', people had named that specific Malfoy. And for a very good reason. Because what usually came out of his wand was emerald. The colour of the killing curse.

Two heads were pressed against the mahogany door. All that could be heard was muffled voices. So Draco, as usual, had a better idea. He crept up one of the hidden corridors in the walls, and towards the vent in his father's office wall.

Two voices floated through the holes.  
"You don't understand, Lorenz!" His father yelled, anger lacing his voice.  
"If I may say so, sir…"  
"No you may not!" Lucius hissed. But Lorenz went straight on.  
"…If I may say so, what it seems to me, is this dream of yours is bringing back…worries." Lorenz rubbed his age creased forehead.  
"Dream? It was no mere dream! The Malfoy's have a long history of powerful seers in our family. My Grandmother was a seer! I think I know what I saw, Lorenz!"  
"It's not wise to assume such things. Draco's like a son to me; just as you were." Lorenz said. Lucius frowned at this.  
"_Like_ a son. Draco is _like_ a son to you, and he is _my_ son. You are getting far too involved in such matters, Lorenz. _That_ is what is not wise. Draco suspects nothing and I would like to leave it that way. I will find a way. Leave my office now. I no longer need your assistance." But Lorenz didn't move.  
"I have worked for your family for 50 years, sir…I know that…"  
"Yes, and if you would like to continue working for this family, I suggest you leave right now." Lucius glared at him.

Lorenz looked down, defeated. "Yes sir." And he left. Silence rang through out the office, and through the hollowed wall.

"Can we go?" Blaise whispered as softly as he could. "I'm kind of squished." Draco didn't reply. He was distracted and confused.

* * *

Lucius placed a hand on his eleven-year-old son's shoulder. He said in a deep voice.

"Make me proud son"

Draco looked towards Hogwarts and nodded. He got a cold chilly feeling, a feeling that told him that he was no longer his father's _little boy._**

* * *

Authors note:**

Okay, I couldn't update sooner because I started my Fic at a really bad time…**Just before my exams!**

Just on another note. Narcissa doesn't feature much in this fiction because she isn't that big a part of Draco's life. Like in the Malfoy family; she, like quite a few other Malfoy wives are just a mere presence in the manor. She there for show and not much else (unlike some other Malfoy wives who are dominant, fierce and refuse to be mere presences.).

And now, the next chapter won't be written this way. In the next chapter I will start the actual story….lalala…I think I'm going far to fast.


	3. What you believe

**Author:** Lyra Skywalker

**Title:** Your Job To Believe

**Genre:** General / Angst

**Disclaimer:** Not mine; everything except the story line belong to the ever so brilliant J.K. Rowling.

**Summary:** "Draco, Do you remember the night you woke to find me standing over you? Do you know why I was there? I was going to kill you. Do you know why? No? Because I didn't want to condemn you to the same life I led."

Story – Your Job To Believe (Chapter 3 - What you believe)

_Hogwarts came and went in a similar fashion. At the end of every year something that included Harry Potter happened and he ended up in the hospital wing. __But something at the end of fourth year happened and it threw Draco's entire world off balance. And it made Draco question everything he had believed.

* * *

_

Draco stared at the familiar mahogany door that led to his father's office. He tried to cool the anger burning inside of him, but as he continued to stare at that door he wondered if he should knock or not.

No, he shouldn't.

Draco threw the door open with such might that it slammed against the wall.

"DAD!" he yelled, looking at his father who was faced towards the fireplace.

"FATHER!"

Lucius turned around, taking the burning, thin, brown stick out from between his lips. It was similar to a muggle incense stick, but smelt of vanilla. It was more elegant than a mere pipe.Heturned to his son with a pensive look upon his face. He seemed neither angry nor quizzical about his son's sudden tantrum on his arrival home.

"Yes Draco?"

"You know that I know you've never been against the Dark Lords beliefs." Draco began. His father looked back at him.

"Yes, and?"

"But you've always told me that he's bad…"

"And?"

"Then why is everybody saying that you're a Death Eater? AGAIN! WHY? You've always told me that you aren't! You've always told me that it isn't true! Why am I getting the increasing belief that it isn't?" Draco ran his fingers through his silver blonde hair. He threw his head back and groaned in frustration.  
Lucius suddenly frowned. Not his usual concerned or annoyed frown he displayed to his son, but his angry/furious frown which he usually reserved for his 'aquantinces'.

"I tell you a lot of things that are not true Draco." He yelled. His son pulled back in shock. A shock that only lasted a few seconds before he threw back.

"You ARE a Death Eater? So it's true then…" Draco took a deep breath before he continued. "WELL I DON'T LIKE IT!"

"What do you want me to do then, Draco? The Dark Lord's back. Potter's supposed 'stories' are real. What would you like me to do? The situation's more complicated then you would think. I couldn't exactly, walk up to the dark lord and hand in my resignation or just quit. When I joined I joined for LIFE, Draco. LIFE. It isn't something that you can just quit!" Lucius threw the disintegrating wizarding cigarette onto his desk.

"I don't like it." Said Draco, furiously. "I _don't_ like it."

"Well, get used to not liking it, Draco. Because there's nothing you can do about it." Lucius hissed, then turned his head towards the portrait of his own father who was listening to the bantering of the two Malfoys.  
Bartholomew Malfoy sniffed and said "So finally Lucius. You do justice to the Malfoy name. After all these years I was beginning to believe…" he sniffed poshly "…that you were becoming…soft."

Lucius looked back at his son. "It's my Job, Draco."

"Your Job? You've always told me you didn't believe in...that kind of stuff." Draco pursed his lips and crossed his arms.

"It's my job, Draco. My Job." He paused then said, "Well, do you Draco?" Lucius asked, turning in the other direction. Draco looked at him with a frown.

"Do I what, Father?" said Draco, squinting to see his father through the fog of vanilla smoke. Lucius turned back towards his son.

"Do you believe that the Dark Lord's evil?"

Draco paused, because he didn't know how to reply to such a question. But before he could reply his father took out his watch and looked at the time. He walked over to the glass cabinet beside the fireplace and took out a vial of deep purple potion.

"Come Draco, we're going to the fourth floor."

"Fourth floor? _We have a fourth floor?_ Why wasn't I told about this?"

Lucius rolled his eyes, uncharacteristically. "The Left Wing Attic, Draco. We're going to the Left Wing Attic."

Draco stood, rooted to the spot.

"Well, are you coming?" Lucius asked.

"I still don't forgive you!"

"WELL?"

Then Draco followed.

**_(Two Years Later – Sixth year)_**

Draco stood by Lorenz, watching the people come and go. He watched the train blow puffs of smoke and felt his butler's hand on his shoulder. Lorenz waited as Draco fingered his wand lovingly. It was hooked to his belt and hung by him.

"Write, Draco" Lorenz told him, like his father would. Draco didn't say anything as he stared darkly at the school train.

It was strange. To not have his father here to say, "Make me proud." Or here to say "I want to know what…goes on…at Hogwarts." A cryptic message for 'fill me in so I can tell the Dark Lord what is happening'.

Blaise waited by the train entrance. "Took you long enough."

Draco looked at him from the corner of his eyes. "I was talking with Lorenz." Blaise snorted.

"Yeah…right. More like exchanging one word sentences." He held up the Daily Prophet.

"You read that shit?" Draco asked…or snorted. His friend nodded.

"I like to be well informed…excuse me. And anyway. You haven't read it have you?" Blaise threw the newspaper onto the seat and flopped down inelegantly.

"Let me guess…the mass brake out?" Draco asked dryly. The other Slytherin stretched out on the seat, cat like, and sighed.

"Yeah. It made front page. Your father's out too you know."

"Of course I fucking know. He's my father. Why wouldn't I know?" Draco spat. He was in no mood to have this conversation. He watched the station disappear as the train took of, swinging side to side as it travelled along the old tracks. The motion was making Draco feel sick and dizzy, or maybe it was because he felt that this year would be bad…bad news, bad events…

"Alright. What's wrong?" he heard Blaise say quite distantly.

"Wrong? Nothing's wrong? Why would anything be wrong?" Draco said too quickly.

"Why? I know something's wrong! I've known you since I was bloody three. Something's wrong." Blaise turned to see if anybody was coming. Pansy was due to pester them soon.

"I just have a really bad feeling about this year."

Blaise snorted and bit into a wriggling chocolate frog. "This year? Why? Because of the war? Because of your father? Why would this year be any different? Every year at Hogwarts has been…eventful. Shit, if I may."

Draco leaned back and shrugged.

"Oh, stop brooding Dray, it doesn't become of you."

"You're starting to sound like my father." The blonde teen groaned.

"Meh"

Draco frowned. "Meh isn't a word Blaise." Blaise laughed.

"No, it's a sound of indifference."

The compartment door slide open and Pansy stalked in. She draped herself across Draco's lap and grinned.

"I heard about your father. Good news eh? Now the war can get back on track!"

Draco pushed her off.

"I don't want to talk about the war right now, Pansy."

Pansy frowned and flicked a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Ooo…did you hear the Mudblood and Weasel are dating?"

"How nice." Draco said dryly. "Two deranged people who belong together…I may vomit."

Blaise laughed. "Really? Hah, nothing unexpected. What's meant too be is meant too be." Draco turned around.

"Are you meantally disturbed or something? Having a pureblood Weasley is bad enough, butthe thought ofa halfblood Weasley?" Draco said.

Pansy started laughing. A laugh which resembled a laugh of a hyena with a stomach ache. Draco frowned and shook his head in exasperation. If only Pansy wasn't the most popular girl in Slytherin, he'd drop her faster than he would a mudblood.

But she was, and he had too put up with her.

This was going to be one long year.

* * *

**Draco's eyes opened slightly. It was dark and a figure loomed above him. He gasped and cried out in shock. A hand gently touched his cheek, stroking softly.**

"**Its okay baby, it's just me." His father whispered softly. **

**Baby? His father hadn't called him that in years. He was nine now, it was just Draco. **

"**Daddy? What're you doing here?" Draco murmured, his voice laced with sleep.**

"**Nothing Draco, just watching you. Go back to sleep." **

**And he did.**

Draco groaned and sat up. Why did he have to dream of the past? He usually dreamt memories, memories he wanted to re-live, and memories he wanted to forget. But at least he was luckier than Blaise who dreamt about dancing 'bunny rabbit's'. How Hufflepuff.

The first night of school and he didn't sleep well, but then again. When DID he sleep well?

* * *

Draco fixed his tie, he un-did it then fixed it again. 

"Oh for Merlin's sake, just hurry up Draco!" Blaise yelled, from outside their dorm.

Draco examined his reflection. He really wasn't happy with it. He…

"DRACO!"

'Oh fine.' Draco gave up and walked outside.

"Yes Mum."

Blaise turned the page of Daily Prophet.

"Stop reading that shit Blaise, I'll just write to Lorenz. He'll tell me what's going on." Draco poked at his bacon and eggs.

"Not hungry Dray?" Pansy asked. Draco glanced at her and hissed.

"Don't call me Dray! It's Draco."

"Aww…" Pansy whined. "But Blaise does."

"Yeah, and Blaise is Blaise." Draco snapped, sawing a sausage in half. "And you are just plain old you."

"What?" Pansy turned her body towards him, her honey laced voice gone. "You'd better watch yourself, Draco." She turned back to Millicent who sat opposite her and said to Draco. "Anyway, I'll call you what ever I like." Her voice uncannily and quite spookily resembled Umbriges'.

Blaise laughed and spooned eggs into his mouth. "Yeah, you see, Pansy, I'm just special." He laughed again at Pansy's obvious irritation. "Hey Dray! It's Lorenz' bird,"

He pointed to a grey and white owl that swooped down, late as all the other owl's had delivered their mail, and landed on Draco' shoulder, tearing the soft cloth.

Draco took the letter and turned it over. The Malfoy Crescent was embossed into the parchment envelope. He opened it and read.

_Draco,_

_Your mother sends her wishes and apologises for not being at the station to see you off. She also apologises that she can not write to you as she is very busy right now. She has given you a package of your favourite sweets and a new robe she has chosen for you._

_Signed, Lorenz.

* * *

_

He pocketed the letter for later

Draco took his knife from his drawer and pressed it into the tip of his finger. Blood trickled into a small white mosaic bowl. He dipped his quill in and signed in elegant cursive writing at the bottom of the letter: _Draco._

The black words cleared and the blood spread across the page, entwining like vines to form words. It was from his father.

The letter read:

_Dear Draco,_

_I am safe, but will not tell you where I am staying in case this letter in intercepted…_

**

* * *

Authors note: **

Yay! Another chapter done.

Reviews are welcomed with open arms, and even if you do not wish to continue reading this fic…reviews are still welcome, and a big huge for everybody who reviews!

: D nothing very interesting to say right now…and constructive criticism and suggestions are always welcome! Please: D

It would do me well to make my fic better:)


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